


Wait this is Oslo? No, No, Stockholm!

by fresne



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: PWP, Podcast, Stream of Consiousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-16
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-10-21 11:06:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fresne/pseuds/fresne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney dreams about his Nobel. Between he wakes to other things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is brought to you by my summer vacation. I mean, it's not wrong that while I was in Stockholm I made a point to visit City Hall for fictive purposes right? Right, I thought so.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
He stared at the star. Faint lines that radiated out in the red brick of the not-blue Blue room. He walked slowly down the stairs towards it. That was when he tripped on his stiff new dress shoes and face planted into the King of Sweden.

Rodney jerked awake before his face hit his tablet. He looked around to see if anyone had noticed, but there was no one to notice in the bright glare of the empty lab.

This wasn't a crisis. Just late night into early morning science.

There was not enough coffee in the known universe to reverse the polarity of Rodney's tired. He took this as a challenge. Drank the last cold stuff down. Grimaced. Drank some more. Faint brown rings on the ancient tabletop. He drew an infinity with the remnants of caffeine. Pushed up on creaking knees and stumble-zombie-shambled his way to where there was more coffee. Mmmcoffee. Meca. Mess.

Drifted his mind to the star. To zero point energy in a bottle. Which became a walking-waking dream about fireflies in a mason jar some summer vacation by a lake when he was a boy. Which became why had Fox cancelled Firefly? Which became Shephard running down the corridor towards him.

It wasn't a crisis. Just early morning running. Rodney opened his mouth to rant to Shephard about... his brain shifted gears and key parts went kerthunk-kerclunk. Why was he standing here? This was nowhere near the mess.

Sheppard breezed by. "McKay." Perpetual motion in his legs and arms. Sweat flung off his arms and dripped down the back of his neck. A drop burned its way onto Rodney's hand. His face tingled with the breeze gone by.

He stared after. Rodney loved perpetual motion. Machines. Rhythm. The sound of feet faded away down the corridor and gone. Empty.

He felt pancake flat. His stomach rumbled.

Pancakes. Coffee. "I need coffee!" It was declarative. He was declarative. Okay, seriously. Coffee. He shuffle-zombie-shambled to get some.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He spun. Sam Carter in his arms under the eyes of the gold crazy lady mosaic. She had snakes for hair. Or waves. Or something. Dizzy. He wanted to throw up; so dizzy and light. He spun away from the floor and threw up chocolate cake into the zodiac mosaic. Vomit in the stars and over the Eiffel tower. Heard Sheppard say, "Hold on buddy. I've got you."

Rodney blinked at the stone floor of the pissed-off-native-of-the-week cell. Again? Why did he always wake up from that dream in a cell? He opened his mouth to rant about the unfairness and closed it again. Nausea fighting with the rant. Nausea prime. Rant not-prime. He ranted in his head instead about stupid people who insisted that he fix their ten thousand year old technology when it was missing key pieces that they were wearing as crown jewels because they were idiots and it wasn't as if he didn't understand that calling people imbecilic-Neanderthal-morons might result in getting hit (thankfully not in the head) and Sheppard was saying, "Rodney, it's okay. I've got you." Which was when Rodney realized that he'd spiraled into shocky-shivers.

He swallowed that down too, because Sheppard had that look. The one where he was going to blow a lot of things up and maybe kill a lot of people. A lot. Rodney flushed warm in the midst of all the cold. He blurted, (why was it always a blurt?) "Yourehot."

Sheppard stopped chaffing Rodney's arms and for a moment it seemed like he was going to let go. And Rodney babbled, (why was it always a babble?) "Dontletgo. Nolettinggo." Except John didn't let go. Only held on and whispered around the crazy-eyes grin, "Let's blow this place."

Rodney felt his heart skip a beat, because neither of them were metaphor kind of guys. "Yeah," he said and grinned back so hard his face hurt. John didn't let go and that was really something that Rodney wasn't going to think about. Sheppard. John. Oh, whatever. His kidneys hurt. John rubbed his arms and Rodney was a genius and they blew things up. Kind of like every day ending in a y.

Still.

He complained and bitched and complained again. But John just rolled his eyes and took him out to a pier with a six pack. As they sat with their legs off the end and who knows what kind of deadly things swam beneath them, Rodney rubbed at the memory of thermodynamics on his upper arms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For some reason, it was very important that he count the white shapes on the ceiling. There were a hundred, but there needed to be a plus one. This was critical. Blow up Wraith ship critical. At his right elbow, Todd sipped his pink umbrella drink from a human skull and twitched a crease in his formalware leather dress straight. Halling's drink had three umbrellas and was on fire. Halling asked, "Is it prime or not-prime?"

Rodney lost his place as the orange circle in the middle of the ceiling spun in lazy circles. John poked him in the ribs. "Rod-ney."

He blinked and for a disoriented moment, he thought John was there with him in bed. Poking him to wake him up. But it was the hard edge of one of the laptops. He'd wrapped an arm around the other one. Clutched it to his chest in a steady warm whir of fans.

"Rod-ney." Rodney flailed until he realized why Sheppard was speaking in his ear.

"What!" He tried to be extremely grumpy and sour and he felt he did a damn fine job if he did say so himself, which he did.

"Come on, Rod-ney." Sheppard buzzed in his ear. Sound waves crackled along the curves and down into the bones inside. "We were going to speed test the jumpers today." Rodney could feel the grin in Sheppard's voice. The slow syrup drawl of it into him.

Rodney resisted the grin. He'd been sleeping. He'd been dreaming. He'd been. He got up and put on his pants. Because the day needed pants. He pretended that he wasn't smiling when he said, "I'm on my way."

They went really fast.

 

~~~~~~~~

"Why are we getting this again." Sheppard tugged at his collar.

"Because you're an idiot and I'm a genius." Rodney did not tug at his tie. Or his shoes, which pinched. Or rubbed at the sour acid excite of what the hell in his belly. He wanted a brownie. Instead he was getting a Nobel. The "wrong" Nobel.

Sheppard elbowed him. "I don't know Brain. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Rodney kicked him, because he was not going to proclaim his desire to take over the world before getting the Nobel Peace Prize of all stupid, dumb, idiotic, imbecilic, PowerPoint a peace treaty while Sheppard smirked a Kirk sort of thing that got some outcasts home and surprise-declassification and surprise! Somewhere in Stockholm, Carter was getting his Nobel for Physics.

Sheppard's fingers brushed briefly against the grain of the hairs on Rodney's knuckles. Whispered into his ear, "Rod-ney."

Rodney shivered, which was because it was cold. Norway in December. Norway. December. Not anything else. Anway. "Yeah, yeah, what we do every night." He glanced around to see if anyone was watching, which everyone was, because hello, Nobel. He muttered, "Try to take over the universe. World's too small." Squeezed John's wrist with a brief touch. Heart skipped a beat. Stepped forward.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Brilliant sunshine warmed his bones to poutine. Or maybe that was John as he nibbled his way down Rodney's neck. Tiny bites that Rodney returned with nails that scratched equations into John's back. Gravity. Velocity. Closer. He needed to be closer. Sweat slick groan and their bed creaked like a top heavy ship about to topple into the harbor. As if he'd build something like that. They'd stay the course.

It was one of those naked dreams. Except you know, John licked his way down like Rodney was made of ice cream; so it was alright to be naked. Good even. Very good. Wet. Hot. Melted. Licks.

The tourists in the central plaza streamed around their wide sea bed. It was a bed and it was the harbor that lapped the stones on the far side of the plaza's wide arches. Rodney arched into fingers that trailed down his belly. The bed was fountain fed too. Salt water sweat and sweet kissed. Somehow they kissed. Even though John nibbled his way down and had a hundred hands. Pilot's fingers on his ass and inside with guiding touches and firm control around his cock and fierce framed his face and it was one of "those" dreams. In his dream, Rodney worked out the physics for how that could work. Groaned as the math splintered into Tetris touches. Slot into place.

"Shouldn't it be snowing in December," Rodney mumbled and gasped as John pushed aside the Nobel that burned against his chest in the sun and scraped Rodney's right nipple with his teeth. John kicked the blanket of snow off the end of their bed. "Oh," said Rodney. "Oh! Oh! Oh!" as John slid skin on skin down. Swallowed Rodney's cock with a soft pop of mouth and tongue. Tongue. Round and round like a softserve. Swirl. Rodney's fingers tangled in John's tangle hair.

Rodney woke with a sense of melting. Of worlds coming apart (but in a good way, not an actual planet way) or colliding or the soft sound of sucking and his own cries as he came.

Oh. Yeah. Last night.

Memory flooded back with the party after the after party as he and John tumbled semi-drunk into Rodney's room. Clinked beer bottles that tumbled into a kiss and hands on shirts and popped buttons and bed and sucked kisses sleep.

John pulled off him in a wet pop and grinned that grin. The eat the sky grin. The come-on grin. Rodney had a seconds decision between post-drunk panic and oh-hell-yes-orgasm-with-John-yeah. Thankfully, he was a genius and adjusted to new circumstances well. He pulled John up to say hello. After all, he'd worked out the physics in his sleep.

Next year, he'd get the right Nobel.


	2. Wait this is Oslo? No, No, Stockholm! [podfic]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodney dreams about his Nobel. Between he wakes to other things.

Length: Mp3, 6.6MB, 14:06 

Music Credit: There Might be Giants “Why does the sun shine?” 

[Download Link ](http://lifeamgood.com/podcasts/OsloShouldBeStockholm.mp3)

[Archived Here](http://www.audiofic.jinjurly.com/wait-this-is-oslo-no-no-stockholm)


	3. [podcast] Wait this is Oslo? No, No, Stockholm!

"Length: Mp3, 6.6MB, 14:06  
Music Credit:There Might be Giants “Why does the sun shine?”"

[Archived Here](http://www.audiofic.jinjurly.com/wait-this-is-oslo-no-no-stockholm)

**Author's Note:**

> If after reading my fiction here, you would like to read more about me and my writing check out my profile.


End file.
